


the light in the dark

by shadesoflondon



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: ALL of the politics, F/M, Nikolai will speak about himself in 3rd person like it's guaranteed, Political Alliances, Rated Explicit for later chapters, Sorry Not Sorry, because y'all let's be real she deserved better than she got in canon, but hot, darklina is endgame OBVS, darkling is also EVIL y'all, follow me on tumblr @shadesoflondonxoxo, let's hope i do alina justice, lets not forgot the constant back and forth and sexy sexy power struggles, like besides the modern part, magic magic magic, mal may or may not be trash here idk, modern day au with a magic twist, my google doc outline is over 35 pages long so BUCKLE UP, naturally that means SLOW BURN, ravkan religion/history heavy, read and find out what i mean folks, so much negotiating... my eyes bleed thinking about it, there will be war b/c im a dramatic bich and this is how i do things, this isn't quite a redemption arc for him, this will be... long, warning: i changed a lot about the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-20 19:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18531709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesoflondon/pseuds/shadesoflondon
Summary: [CURRENTLY ON HIATUS]Alina Starkov is a theology graduate student. When she's offered a job in Ravka, things go rather unexpectedly. As she navigates the waters of politics, friendships, and power, she learns perhaps the most important lesson of all: trust no one.Modern day AU with a magical twist. Darklina fic.





	1. the boy in the diner

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, thanks for reading and welcome to the shitshow! This fic will be LONG. It will also, yes, have magic. Darklina is ofc endgame, and...  
> well, I promise it'll be an interesting modern day AU!
> 
> Song of the chapter: Drops of Jupiter by Train
> 
> HUGE thank you to Blackheretic for beta reading this and for the lovely stories! Go check out their fics :)

It was the first time in months that I had gone on a date, and it had taken weeks of pushing and prodding from Genya. Per my best friend’s request I downloaded Tinder, did some swiping ( _lots_ of swiping), and was matched with a cute guy named Dubrov. Dubrov liked beanies. He seemed like a cool guy, and had earned the Genya stamp of approval, so we agreed to meet up that Friday for dinner.

The first thing I noticed about Dubrov was his height. His height, and his shocking mop of of blonde hair. He was handsome, I think.

We found ourselves seated in a small mom and pop restaurant. The ceiling was low, and the tiled floors and bright leather seats were reminiscent of 1950's Americana. My stomach growled at the smell of sizzling burgers. Though most American food was too sweet and saturated for my plain Ravkan tastes, burgers somehow seemed to make an exception.

A plump waitress shuffled us into a back booth. Late afternoon light filtered through the dusty window beside us. The lady handed us our charmingly grimy menus, saying something about bringing out the complimentary rolls before waddling off. Dubrov smiled at me over his menu. He was nice, I decided, though I wasn't quite sure how I felt his beanies yet.

"I would've held out a chair for you," he said. "But alas."

I smiled back at him and looked around as he gestured to the rest of the room. Despite being a relatively busy side of town, the place was empty. An elderly couple was stationed at the diner bar, munching on burgers and milkshakes. I glanced over the menu before deciding on something simple: grilled cheese and fries. Not the healthiest selection, but cheese was cheese. I had grown up eating it nearly every meal in Ravka.

"What are you ordering?" I asked. He squinted at his menu.

"I haven't decided between the harvest salad and the chicken platter."

The waitress returned to bring us bread. After taking our order she left, shouting something to the cook in the back and moving to seat another party. I splayed my fingers on the formica surface of the table. Dubrov checked his phone before sticking it in his pocket, away, and leaning both elbows onto the table. Oddly enough, his face and build seemed almost horse-like to me. Nimble and long, all sharp angles and hidden grace. His dimple helped too.

"So, what does Alina do for fun?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. Read. Study. Work..."

He chuckled.

"So you're a student?"

"I am."

"What do you study?" He asked, pulling apart a roll and popping it into his mouth.

"Religion," I stated simply. "I find it fascinating what different cultures believe and how that translates into their culture, politics, morals...." I swirled my straw around my cup.

"Huh," he said. I inquired about his study, and came to find it was the "right kind" of philosophy. That was my first red flag.

Not that there's anything wrong with philosophy.

But once he started talking about it, he would not. Shut. Up.

Genya told me once about a guy she had been with who hadn't let her say a word on their first date- he just blabbered on and on about nothing in particular. But she liked his face, so there was a second date. Genya also told me once that she had made a mistake.

When I realized that Dubrov had no intention in shutting his mouth, I gave up all hope in salvaging whatever would've been between us. Our food was brought out not too long after. Thankfully, he was quiet in between bites of wilted lettuce, giving my ears moments of temporary respite. My teacher in Ravka, Ana Kuya, once told me to make every experience a learning one. So that's what I did: I cataloged everything about Dubrov that I could. His expressions and movements, subtle mannerisms and inflections that he might not have been completely conscious of. Understanding people was a helpful skill in life, and even more helpful in a field that required a deep connection with the way of the world and the human mind.

That didn’t mean I was the best at it. I often projected my own feelings on people when trying to figure them out.

“Do you want to pay?”

I snapped out of my mind fog when our bill was brought out. Dubrov smirked and pushed it over to me.

“I forgot to bring my wallet,” he said unapologetically. My lips parted.

“You didn’t even check.”

“I don’t feel it,” he said, face flushing. I only shook my head and paid for the meal. I mean, _come on_. I was a student! I was way too poor to be paying for full on meals like that. My usual dinner selection was cereal, sandwiches, and canned soups I scored on clearance.

We left the restaurant, and I held the door open for a young man entering. As I turned away, Dubrov put an arm around my shoulder. A feeling of disgust bloomed in stomach; clearly all earlier attraction I held for him was gone.

“I like you, Alina,” he said. “Will we be doing this again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we could split the bill next time?”

He laughed, but I didn’t. I was still a bit agitated by the fact that he took advantage of me.

“Aw, come on,” he said. He lowered his voice and nuzzled his face into my neck. “We could do something distracting…”

I hesitated but lightly pushed him into the brick wall beside us. After making sure that no one was looking into the small alley we were situated in, I kissed him. His kiss in response was grossly over enthusiastic. I slowly ran my hands down his chest, earning a pleased hum from him. He reached for my hips but I pushed his arms away. My hands slid down to his ass and felt the thing I was after: his wallet. I fingered it from his pocket and pushed him away. His grin was sloppy and suggestive, just begging to be wiped away.

“We can take this back to my car,” he hummed. I held up his wallet, the look on his face twisting into a priceless mask of shock. Genya would _so_ cackle about this later.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Alina-” he reached for me, but I backed away and tossed him his wallet.

“Thanks for the philosophy talk at least,” I snapped. He seemed to sense that there was no going back from what had transpired, and let me walk off. The urge to look back was strong but I suppressed it. This meant that I had to walk home now.

Whatever.

The walk from the restaurant to my apartment was only ten or so minutes, and I spent it trying to find a good way to word my story for Genya. On whim I took a detour through a city park, deciding to try to at least make the most of the evening that I had spent twenty fruitless dollars on. I was pleasantly surprised to find it busy.

Sunlight shifted through the leaves, casting orange shadows on the manicured grass. Sunset had always been my favorite time of day. August was falling into September, apparent by the jackets and pants everyone had started wearing.

Across the lawn, a dog chased its owner. Two toddlers bickered over a football. I walked past an old man throwing a frisbee and a young, dark haired man reading a newspaper. It was odd to think that only a few years before, I had lived in an all different country speaking a completely different language. Ravka didn’t have a university, and when kids showed potential, they were shipped off to study their profession elsewhere.

That’s how I ended up at Yale University six years ago. After three years of Ana Kuya beating information into my head, I tested and scored high on our Ravkan exams. At age eighteen I was taken to America and away from everything I had ever known. I mean of course I was grateful for the opportunity, as most Ravkan children never even see the inside of a schoolroom, but still. The only thing that had truly helped me survive in America were the English lessons that my orphanage required. My Ravkan accent was still a bit prominent even after six years, but it didn’t bother me. Any tie to my home country was a welcome one.

 

Before bed that night, I called Genya and filled her in on what happened.

“Was he at least a good kisser?” Her giggle was muffled through the phone.

“No… he used his lips like suction cups,” I laughed.  “So much sucking.”

Her laugh, as always, made me feel better. The day she walked into my life was probably one of best I had ever had. While sitting alone at a bar and moping about a break up, a red head I didn’t know plopped down next to me and asked whether my glass was filled with tears or vodka. A friendship was born. I had only known her a year, but she was single handedly one of the smartest, fiercest, most beautiful women I had ever met.

I dreamed fitfully that night of wallets, beanies, and a young man in a diner.

~~~

The week went by in its usual blur. A few classes, waiting shifts, library visits, and coffee stops. Most of my time was consumed by my masters thesis. My favorite writing corner was in the Arts Library and that’s where I found myself Monday morning- hair in a bun, coffee in hand, comfortable yoga pants on. My spot was pretty secluded, usually only disturbed once or so an hour.

Two hours into my writing session, a man in all black walked past me. It shouldn’t have stuck out in my memory. But it did. Maybe it was something about his posture, or the way he looked back at me. All I was sure of was that it was sheerly magnetic. Another hour passed before I realized that I had seen him before, the evening I met Dubrov, at the diner.

~~~

Though I hadn’t seen him once on campus in six years, I saw him again twice that week.

~~~

Every Friday evening I treated myself to coffee from a local coffee shop. The place was small, but it served the real deal. My caffeine addicted brain couldn’t get enough of their dark coffee selections. Of course, it tasted better in a ceramic mug than in a paper cup, so I sat at one of the back tables to properly enjoy it. I slipped on my headphones and pulled out my school laptop. What is it they say about graduate school? It ruins everything.

Across the room, at a table facing my direction, I noticed a familiar man with a newspaper. Only, he wasn’t reading the newspaper. He was staring straight at me. I felt my heart give an uncomfortable jolt, and naturally, I stared back. He broke eye contact to finish his drink. Thinking that was the end of that, I went back to typing at my laptop. I let a minute pass before sneaking a glance back toward where he was sitting. The man stood, and I thought for a moment that he would head for the door. He did not.

Instead the man approached my table, and I noticed with a raised eyebrow that he was again clothed from head to toe in all black. He was young, maybe in his mid twenties, and dressed in a plain dark shirt, pants, and well fitted suit jacket. I pulled my headphones off as he slid into the seat across from me. Unsure of how to react, I simply watched as he straightened himself.

He studied me. It was off-putting. Usually, when men used uncomfortable flirt tactics, I told them to get lost. Yet despite the way it sounded, nothing about his body language showed that kind of interest. Rather, he studied me like a clue in a crime scene. See: off-putting.

He observed as I pursed my lips. The man’s eyes were the coolest gray, framed by sultry dark lashes. On his head was a tumble of black hair, thick and wavy and everything my hair wasn’t. The only flaw I could pick out on his features were the faint dark lines under his eyes- but they only added intensity to the black on white contrast of his hair and skin. It wasn’t wise to trust something so pretty.  

“You’re Alina Starkov?” He asked.

“I am. How- how did you know that?”

He didn’t answer, only politely observed me a moment longer. If I said that his attractive features were the most intriguing detail about him thus far, I’d be lying. It was his voice. An English accent was rare in America, and rarer still was an English and Ravkan accent. It was as if his Ravkan bit into the dips of each consonant, adding an oddly lovely contrast to the elegant English. It made me homesick. I could only stare at him, color rising to my cheeks.

“Have you been following me?” I blurted out. He seemed to find this amusing, the corner of his mouth twitching as he folded both hands onto the table.

“I mean, I’m flattered,” I said, closing my laptop, “but there’s probably better ways to ask a girl out.”

“Alina,” he said. “Can I call you that?” I considered telling him to leave me alone, but my curiosity greatly squished my unease. It couldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say. I nodded for him to continue.

“Yes, well, Alina. I’m flattered by the thought, but I’m afraid that’s not why I’m here. I’ve been observing you in hopes that you can help me with something.” He produced a manila folder from the inside of his suit jacket. “I have a job offer for you.”

“A job offer.” I stared at the folder with distaste. “ _Sir-_ ” I said pausing- “may I call you that?” He stared at me, but I didn’t give him room to interrupt. “You’re probably _somehow_ aware that I’m a working student. I don’t have time for another job.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Then what…” I trailed off as he pushed the folder towards me.

“Just look at it, Alina.”

I gave him a dubious look but took the packet. It was thick and expensive, like the archive folders that Yale’s libraries used to store loose documents. The smell of old paper was missing, though, and I was quite sure that these particular sheets weren’t full of the Ravkan myths I was so used to studying. Thumbing through the papers, I also noted their expensive quality. My eye caught on a distinctly familiar seal. A delicate red _‘R’_ was printed on the bottom of each page, and on the very last, was a watermark that read ‘CLASSIFIED.’

“These papers are official Ravkan documents,” I paused. “You’re from the Ravkan government?”

A single nod. He looked far too young to be anyone important.

“Why didn’t you _preface_ with that?” I asked, scanning again through the papers. “These don’t mention anything specific about the job. Or the location.”

“The location,” he said, “is Os Alta. As far as the job goes, it’s an advising position.”

“For who?”

“I can’t say.”

His voice clipped nicely over _‘can’t.’_

“Can’t or won’t?”

“It makes no difference.”

 _“_ Are you actually from Ravka?” I asked. “Your accent isn’t completely Ravkan.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, weighing an unspoken decision in his mind. “No, it’s not,” he admitted. “I became fluent in English during university, which,” he stated, “I attended in England.”

Ah.

I pushed the folder away and took a long sip from my coffee. His eyes tracked the movement. It occured to me that every shift he had made so far in our conversation had been deliberate; had a purpose, whether I was privy to it or not. That made him dangerous. That made him interesting. He was calm and yet somehow charismatic; an attitude I’d only seen portrayed as well on a movie screen.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe this,” I said. “‘ _An attractive man with an unusual accent approaches a lonely girl. He waves his hand and offers her a future too good to be true.’_ I know a scam when I see one. You could’ve easily have printed these papers,” I sniffed, sloshing around the coffee in my cup.

He tilted his head, and the soft light of the cafe drew shadows under his cheekbones.

“I am not playing with you,” he said gently. In perfect Ravkan _._ He continued, the foreign syllables flowing easily off of his tongue. “This may seem out of the blue, but we have been looking for someone with your background for a long time. We’ve had our eyes on you.”

His eyes held mine in a delicate grip, a bit of fervor leaking from his body language. I had to admit that his passion was contagious.

“Well… it’s certainly something to think about,” I said. It was the first time Ravkan had left my own lips in years. Not since I had stepped off the plane from Ravka and onto American soil had I even met someone who could speak the language. Being a small, war torn country did not make it very popular.

Yet something still didn’t add up.

“You came all of the way from Ravka to recruit me?”

“I did.”

“What made you so sure I would drop _everything_ and take the job offer?”

“You didn’t read the full back page, did you,” he said, more of a statement than a question. I frowned and flipped to the back.

“I don’t see what you’re referring to.”

“They are offering to pay you,” he said pointing to fine print, “approximately that much in a yearly salary.” My eyes widened. It was a lot of money- much more than I would ever make as a professor.

“...And they are willing to pay off your student debt.”

“They’re offering me a salary this high _and_ paying off my student debt?” I narrowed my eyes. Part of me was very excited to hear what he was telling me, but the other side of my brain wouldn’t let me believe quite yet. “Why are they so interested in a grad student?”

“Your degree doesn’t matter so much. You’re Ravkan,” he mused, “and very informed in the area you’re needed for. We found you through your undergraduate paper. It was exceptional. You may not get your masters, but you’ll be able to pursue your passion while helping people.”

I absorbed what he was telling me. It all made sense, but in Ravka’s world of war and brutal politics, everything had a cost.

“What’s the drawback? The downside of all of this?” I asked. These questions drew a genuine chuckle from him. In his expression I could read amusement and subdued satisfaction, like he had predicted what I would say and had been right.

“The downside is that it _is_ a sacrifice. As long as you work for the Ravkan government, you can’t return to the United States. Security reasons, you understand. You would need to sign papers and legally agree to keep your mouth shut. But Alina, at the same time? You could use your passion to help an entire country. Your _home_ country,” he said, with the smallest of smiles.

I bit my lip.

“When would you need an answer by?” We sat in silence for a moment. “That is, _if_ I decide to take this offer.”

“Preferably in the next couple of weeks.”

Ever present homesickness stirred in my gut. There was no doubt he was counting on that. Taking the job in the next couple of weeks meant that I would need to drop out of my classes. It would mean leaving Genya, and school, and all of my friends behind. But… it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Ravka felt like an empty hole in my heart, one that I thought previously unfillable. There were no jobs for theologists in Ravka. I couldn’t move back, because I had no way to make money.

But now I could.

The man stood, and grabbed the folder. He slipped it back into his jacket.

“At least think about it,” he said, sliding a business card onto the table. There was nothing but a phone number on its surface. I watched him walk away. Before leaving he looked over his shoulder, offering me a friendly nod goodbye. Yet it didn’t quite feel like a goodbye. As he exited the building, I got the strange sense that he felt the same way.

I stared down miserably at the dregs of my coffee cup. Some difficult decisions were headed my way, that was for sure. Pocketing the business card, I gathered my things and left.

I’d have to refrain from sharing details with her, but I hoped to the saints that Genya had good advice.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the writing is choppy or anything, it's been a hot minute since I've tried my hand at fiction!
> 
> Also I know like jack shit about masters thesis and yale, so if there are inconsistencies then that's why lol.
> 
> I'm planning on doing a darklina fic shout out at the end of each chapter, because there are literally SO MANY good darklina fics and honestly I just want to give them all the love they deserve. My first shout out is for The Shadow of War by InsectKin. That fic is AMAZING y'all. I was hesitant going in, but it gets SO GOOD. And I usually hate AUs. (The reason why I chose that fic first is because it starts off similar to this one- I promise they are very different)
> 
> Don't forget to review/leave kudos! Follow me on tumblr @shadesoflondonxoxo


	2. the start of something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to knock this chapter out in like a day, whew  
> As always, thanks to the lovely Blackheretic for beta-ing this update!
> 
> Song of the chapter: Bird Set Free by Sia

It took Genya about six seconds to realize that something was off. I was standing in the foyer of my apartment, one hand slinging my book bag over a chair, and the other balancing my phone. I didn’t trust myself to call her while driving (I tended to flail my hands around) so it was when my key turned the lock that I dialed her number.

“Genya, can we talk?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Her voice was completely unconcerned. It threw me off, and that second of hesitation was all she needed.

“Is everything alright? Alina?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I started, setting my keys down and falling onto the couch. “I just…”

Silence stretched between us, and in it I heard the rustle of blankets shifting on her end.

“You’re acting weird,” she said, suspicion lacing her words.

“Something weird happened to me. I don’t know how much I can say.”

 _“_ You _don’t know how much you can say?”_ A beat passed, and I knew she was thinking. “Wait- did that Dubrov guy threaten you? I swear to god, if he-”

“No! No,” I cut her off. “Nothing like that. I was confronted, though, but it’s not important.”

“You’re calling me about it, so it’s obviously important.”

“Fine. You’re right,” I said. “This could change my life.”

“Woah. Do you want me to come over? I can bring that gin you like.”

“Sure… but no gin.”

“Aye, aye,” she said. “I’ll be there in twenty, dork. Hang tight.”

I put the phone down and scrubbed my face with my hands. To at least attempt to make my apartment appear tidy, I picked up all of my stray mugs and papers and organized them appropriately. Once that was done, I stared at my fridge and fought back tears. That was unacceptable. I couldn’t _cry_ about this; not yet. And not standing like a lost puppy in the middle of my kitchen. In a last ditch effort to stifle my nerves, I bundled up on the couch and turned on Animal Planet.

Genya knocked on the door a few minutes later. Wearing my blankets like a cape, I went to the door and let her in. She giggled at the sight. In her arms were two pint sized tubs of ice cream.

“You didn’t want alcohol, so I brought the next best thing,” she said. At the sight of meerkats on the t.v. screen, she let out a deep sigh.

“It’s bad, isn’t it? Whatever we’re about to talk about?”

“No,” I offered. “It’ll be fun. Girl talk.”

“Uh huh.”

I switched off the television and patted a square on the couch cushion. She took the spot, sitting with her legs crossed, a pillow under her butt, and the ice cream balanced between her thighs. The sun had long since set, and we were left in no light except that from the kitchen. It was moments like this we tended to remember, I thought tenderly as Genya offered me a spoon.

“So, what’s the drama?” She asked. “The gossip? The 411?”

This would be much easier with a glass of gin.

“Again, I can’t say much,” I teased through a mouthful of chocolate goodness. “But… I was given a very good offer from a ‘trustable’ source. There’s lots of money involved, and a good location.”

“A ‘very good offer?’ Like a job?”

I gave her a pointed look. She gave me an exaggerated wink in response, then waved her hand in a motion for me to continue. I obliged with a grimace.

“The location is good. But it’s not even in the United States.”

“Oh,” she said, dropping her spoon from her mouth. Realization dawned on her face, but the look was quickly replaced with apprehension.

“So, you’ve been _possibly_ offered a job outside of the country, and I’m guessing you can’t take it? Because of school?”

“That’s the thing, Genya,” I said. “It’s good enough to consider taking despite school. I’ll likely never have another opportunity like it.”

She studied my face, her red brows furrowed.

“If you are sure that this is a once in a lifetime thing, and you know that it will pay well…” she weighed her words carefully. “I would take it.”

“Really?” I asked.

“It depends on what it means to you. If you turned it down, would you wonder ‘ _what if_ ’ for the rest of your life? I feel like you’ve already made up your mind. You just want me to tell you if you’re right or wrong.”

She wasn’t wrong. In Ravkan, the word _vyborko_ perfectly described the situation: a decision that was difficult to make, but made for the best. In the end, if I decided to take up that strange man’s offer, that’s what it would be. It would be for _my_ best, at least.

But could I imagine throwing a complete year of graduate school away? No. Could I imagine leaving Genya? No, not really. It sounded cliche, but Genya really saw me. She truly made an effort in our friendship, like I did with her, and it felt nice to be needed like that. She was my rock. She made school fun, too.

“Don’t punch me,” I said, “but I couldn’t imagine leaving you.” I phrased it as a joke, but it was clear she saw right through that. Her expression softened. An indiscernible emotion flickered behind her eyes, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn it was regret.

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

“What?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Genya…” I trailed off. She could, technically, come with me. According to her, her parents were old Yale alumni and paid for basically everything she needed. Having loaded parents meant that she didn’t truly work, only held a few weekly shifts at a local beauty salon to kill time. Sometimes I envied that. Most times, I honestly didn’t. Despite the funny front she put up, I occasionally caught glimpses of something a lot deeper, a lot sadder underneath.

“You’re sure?” I asked her. She nodded, her subdued expression melting into something happier.

“Definitely. Rich people are supposed to travel anyways, not stay cooped up in small college towns.”

“Huh,” I laughed. “Why is it you’re here again?”

“You.”

She winked, flicking her arm out to smear a glob of ice cream on my nose. I laughed again and shoved her away. As I went to the kitchen to wipe my face, she splayed herself out on the couch, humming some sort of nursery rhyme. She was flipping through one of my books on Ravkan religion when I walked back into the room.

“If you’re from Ravka, why is it again that you have to _study_ the religion?” She wondered aloud.

“It’s my focus,” I replied.

“Well yeah, but… wouldn’t you know all about it already? Ravka’s notorious for being religious.”

“I grew up in _one_ town,” I said. “Each town in Ravka has varying beliefs, and each town favors a different _sankt._ Trying to apply the customs of one area to the rest of the country… it wouldn’t work.”

Her response was a yawn.

“This serious talk bores me. Let’s finish this ice cream and watch Project Runway,” she suggested, setting my book aside and collecting all of the blankets.

I settled onto the cushions beside her, letting my mind drift as models filled the screen. Again and again, I imagined leaving Yale for something bigger. Larger. I imagined using the knowledge that I had spent sweat, blood, and tears accumulating to help someone. Eventually, these thoughts faded and my eyes slipped closed. Sleep came for us both quickly.

~~~

There was nothing quite like being a waitress. Better yet, there was nothing quite like being a _distracted_ waitress. I had the lunch shift at a campus bistro every monday - saints, do I hate mondays - and the entire time, I thought of Ravka. It was a guilty fantasy of mine, worsened by that stupid, pretty man and his stupid, pretty offer.

“Hey!” A customer called from his table. “Our drinks were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!”

The customer was a regular, and rude. He never tipped and made a hobby out of harassing the servers. In an act of vengeance he was dubbed “Balding Bill” by one of the old employees, in respects to the gleaming circle of bare skin atop his head. The name stuck, as no one liked him, and of course it was today of all days that he chose to sit in my section of the restaurant.

“You!” He pointed at me. Snapping out of my reverie, I made my way over to his table.

“How may I help you?” I asked.

“You’re my waitress, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, I remembered it was a bony bitch. You should thicken up,” he sneered, “and bring my family their drinks. I don’t pay you to sit on your ass and ignore me.”

An uncomfortable blush itched my cheeks, and I felt sweat dampen my palms. Being publicly insulted wasn’t fun, but my boss’s words rang through my ears: _the customer is always right._

“I uh, of course,” I stammered. Before he could see me react further, I turned on my heel and left. There was a limit to what customers could say and do, right? Just because I was distracted didn’t mean they could walk all over me. The refreshment station was empty when I went to collect the drinks, and when I returned, Balding Bill didn’t even look at me.

“Can I take your order….?” I asked, hesitantly setting the cups down. He reached for his, and took a long sip, still pretending I wasn’t there. Quicker than I thought he could move, his arm shot out and dropped the cup. It spilled all over the floor and soaked my shoes.

“Oh my,” he deadpanned. “I’m truly sorry.”

That was the last straw. Forgetting my polite smile, I gave him a look poisonous enough to kill. My job damned, I headed to the back of the restaurant and to the manager

“Sir?”

I knocked on the office door. There was no response, and no light through the crack of door, so I pushed it open.

“Alina?”

I spun to face my manager. He held a fast food bag in one hand, and his office keys in the other. It appeared I caught him on his lunch break. Pushing past me, he walked into the room and flicked the lights on. With an irritated finger he nudged his glasses up.

“Can I help you?”

“Um, yes,” I said as he unwrapped his sandwich. When he didn’t respond, I shifted awkwardly onto one foot.

“There’s been an incident with a customer,” I edged.

“What kind of incident?”

“Well you see, it wasn’t really an incident, but-”

“Alina, just do your job and leave me alone,” he huffed.

“But sir-”

“Is the customer having an issue with you?”

“He poured a drink on me!”

“But is the customer having an issue with you?” He paused mid bite, his sandwich hovering over his mouth.

“No...”

“Well then, I don’t see what the problem is.”

I didn’t move, and he set his sandwich down completely. We stared each other down. Suddenly I saw it my mind’s eye: me, stuck working in this restaurant for another year until I graduated. The thought filled me with a flash of white hot anger.

“The problem,” I said, untying my apron and throwing it at him, “is you. You’re a dick. I’m done here.”

The impulsiveness was quite unlike me, but I was done being pushed around. Ever since I took this job, both my boss and the customers had treated me like I was lesser. Once upon a time, I didn’t have a choice. I put up with it.

On my way out of the restaurant, I flipped Balding Bill off. His face purpled. The decision was already made, I supposed, as I climbed into my car and fished through my bag. I found the business card and set it on the dash. There was no tremble in my fingers as I keyed in the number into my phone. On the second ring, a woman with an accent as course as wool picked up.

~~~

I was given a date and an address. It was two days from now, the first of September, and I could not have been more ready. The meeting was only to sign paperwork, but still it felt like the start of something.  


~~~

I arrived at the building ten minutes early, wearing a nice outfit and a fresh face of makeup. It was an office space, tall and modern and equipped with a parking area that was much too small. Inside, the walls were glass and metal. I found a directory and headed to the third floor. It was spacious, I noticed, stepping off of the elevator. The room number I was given was across the walkway, and past the reception desk. I didn’t even have to knock - when I reached to touch the door, a woman opened it from the inside.

“Come in,” she said, gesturing for me to sit in a conservative leather chair. Her voice was pitched in the way that all Ravkan’s were, and I felt a twinge of kinship with the woman. The room was as an office, styled with the same modern touch as the rest of the complex. Her desk was long and all edges, backed up to a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. She sat behind it and offered me a mint from a bowl. I declined, settling into my chair across from her.

“We’re very pleased to be working with you, Ms. Starkov,” she said. I leaned forward to shake her hand.

“I’m here to oversee the signing of all of your documents. I’ll explain each one as we go, and if you have any questions, don’t feel shy.”

“Of course,” I replied. She handed me a clipboard. From behind her desk she compiled a stack of papers. The stack was quite thick, I noticed with resigned dread.

Throughout the appointment she was nothing but patient. I made a point to skim over each page, and upon realizing this, she took it in stride. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her- it was more that I didn’t trust myself to understand the implications of everything she was explaining. Over the course of a few hours, we worked completely through the stack. By the time that I shook her hand and left for my car, I had officially filed to terminate my student visa, dropped out of university, and sent all of my necessary information to the Ravkan government.

The sadness I expected wasn’t there. Instead I found anticipation where Ravka was concerned, and anxiety where Yale was. A certain part of me would never get over the fact that I dropped out. It was a messy business, but I supposed not as messy as accumulating student debt.

I revved the engine to life. In the passenger seat lay the keys to my future: a folder containing one special airport security pass, and one updated Ravkan ID. Between the two licenses were sheets of paper containing everything I needed to know about my new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic shout out for this chapter is: she’s a goddess, you should’ve seen this BY Blackheretic! Her works are so entertaining, you guys should definitely go check them out. (Oh- and she updates very frequently!) :)


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